What's In a Name?

My parents are brilliant.  Plain and simple.  They are brilliant.  Mom is a master teacher.  Dad is a rocket scientist.  Now, I'm not sure if all parents do this when they are about to have a kid, but mine were very picky about the names that their children were going to have for the rest of their lives.  They wanted my brother and me to have strong, historic, unique, versatile names that (thank all that is good) were difficult to mock.

My brother was named Jason Talon.  

I was named Kathryn Delain. 

The first names are both classic names.  (Mine is actually my mother's middle name.)  Our middle names are fairly unique.  My brother, Talon, was named after a character in one of Louis L'Amour's books.  (Louis L'Amour is one of my Dad's favorite authors.)  My middle name was made-up because Dad was dead set on my middle name starting with a D, but it had to be unique.  Delaney was too cutesy, I guess, so the -y was dropped and spelled it Delain.  There you go.  Good, strong names.  One common.  One unique.  Both working together to adequately describe the people they belong to. 

Here's the cool part:  my brother and I can easily go by our initials.  J.T. and K.D.  That's why Dad wanted me to have a middle name that started with D.  Everyone knows that Kathryn (or Katherine or Catherine) is usually shortened to Katie (or Katy), but the plan was for me to go by my initials, KD.  And that's exactly what happened until I went to kindergarten. 

Now, obviously, my parents love me.  They were very active in my early mental development.  I can't remember one night when I was young that someone didn't read a story to me.  I remember counting things that I saw outside the windows while the family was in the car.  I learned my letters, numbers, shapes, colors, and the basics of reading before I even stepped foot in a classroom.  (It's one of the many benefits of having parents that are brilliant.)  I knew how to write my name because Dad and I went over it one afternoon at the big, yellow kitchen table.  I wrote my name over and over in different colors of crayon on a huge white piece of construction paper.  KD must have been written forty to fifty times on that piece of paper.  It was something that any kid would be proud of.

 However, my days of being KD were cut short by my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Emmons.  (Now, I was a good student.  I talked a little bit more than the other students, and I am almost positive that I was louder than most, but I know I was smart.  In fact, I would get in trouble at school because I would get done with my work quickly and bother the kids around me.)  The day came when we were supposed to learn how to write our names.  I was excited!  I already knew how to write my name!  My Daddy had taught me!  So, when I got the piece of paper with the practice lines on them I started writing KD over and over as neatly as my little hands could.  This was going to be a masterpiece!  I could already hear the praises from my teacher and my parents.  When Mrs. Emmons made it around to my desk, I proudly showed her the work that I had done.  Instead of the expected praise, I heard, "Oh, dear. Sweetheart, you don't have it quite right.  You spell your name K-A-T-I-E."  Now, as a kid, I took instruction fairly well.  Correction...not so much.  (Something that is still quite true over twenty years later.)  I quickly told her that, no, SHE was wrong.  My Daddy taught me how to spell my name and it was KD.  One thing led to another, and I ended-up crying in timeout.  I am fairly certain that was the day that I lost all faith in the public education system because I went by Katie or Katy all the way until I made it to college.

College was a time when I could finally be "myself."  I could finally be "KD," and that's exactly who I became.  I was independent, strong-willed, and too smart for my own good.  I had expertly learned how to cover all of my insecurities in one way or another during my life leading-up to college.  I had a rock hard shell and steely determination.  I was a force to be reckoned with.  I was in the Corps of Cadets and the Fightin' Texas Aggie Band.  Participation in those organizations opened the doorway to being a soldier in the United States Army.  While I was overseas in Afghanistan, I got the brilliant idea to become a rugby player.  When I made it back to The States, I did just that.  I ran around in cleats and hit people for fun.  It was great, but after a while the shell became a burden and the determination turned to drudgery.  

In desperation and frustration, I stopped trying to be the person I thought I was.  I had already rejected the thought of trying to become the person others thought I was, so I had only one option to pursue: to start seeking the person God had created me to be.  I can honestly say that has been my pursuit for the past year and a half.  Amazing things have happened, and that's why this blog exists: to journal those things.  

I can't say that I have done any of this on my own.  One, God's been opening doors and waiting patiently for me to walk through with Him in loving obedience.  Two, I have been learning to live in Christian community.  

Part of living in community with other Christians is that people enter your life that say and do things that will convict and challenge your ways of thinking and doing things.  If God wills it, one will stand out just for you and begin mentoring you.  Fortunately for me, that's what happened when God put Miss Carol in my life.

I love the conversations Carol and I have.  She challenges me.  She asks questions that many other people either have never thought of or are too afraid to ask.  I've never felt the need to hide the truth or be anything other than genuine with her, and I've learned a lot because of our relationship.

At the end of one of our conversations, she asked a strange question.  "Have you ever thought of changing how you spell your name?  KD is a rather masculine way to spell it.  Why not any of the other ways?"  Of all the things we talked about that night, my mind fixated on that question.  I explained my parents' logic behind my name, but she wasn't impressed.  Mrs. Emmons and the entire public education system had ruined "Katie" or "Katy" for me, so those would just not do.  My mind started to consider all of the possibilities that I could be called other than KD.  One stood out above all of the others.  Kate.  That name is special to me.  In fact, I have answered to it all of my life.  For some unknown reason, whenever Mom or Dad needed to ask a quick question or let me know something important they would say, "Hey, Kate..."  It was always said gently, but it always got my attention immediately as if something special was about to be said.

So to have an outward and obvious way of showing the change in my life, I would like to be called Kate.  I know it will be strange for people who have always known me as KD (or Katie...or...Katy), but it would be appreciated.  In fact, I know that sometimes in the Bible when God raised someone up and changed them for His purposes, that person's name changed.  Abram became Abraham.  Saul became Paul.  

It's time for KD to become Kate.